


set fire to my soul

by alovelikeher



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Gendrya Big Bang, Sexual Content, Smut, finding the love of your life via a laundry misunderstanding, smut is mostly implied/mild, they're just childish as hell, this is the most vanilla use of enemies to lovers ever btw, with some extra help from memes and roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25021138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alovelikeher/pseuds/alovelikeher
Summary: He's just a guy she has sex with sometimes (regularly, a lot, all the time). It's no big deal (it's a massive deal) that she enjoys his company (values his friendship more than anything they do with their clothes off). They're just friends (except when they're so, so much more).
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 44
Kudos: 315
Collections: Still Rowing: A Gendrya Centric Fanfic Collection





	set fire to my soul

**Author's Note:**

> can't claim full credit for this idea - it's inspired by a note i saw on tumblr (you'll get it as you read on)! this is a bit different to my usual style and maybe even characterisation with these two, so i'm not really sure about it but i hope it works.
> 
> i'm hopeless at editing so there are almost definitely mistakes in this mammoth (for me) one shot. so, sorry in advance!
> 
> massive, massive thanks to jess for being even more bloody fantastic and talented than usual. <3

Arya loves university.

Truly, she does. She loves learning about something she’s genuinely interested in (she's studying linguistics), loves making friends from all over the world, loves the brand new sense of freedom she never could really have (despite her best efforts) in Winterfell.

She’s slightly _less_ inclined to love doing laundry.

Not because of the actual chore itself, but because university students were, for the most parts, total idiots.

Plus, despite being such a prestigious establishment that was the centuries-old University of Riverrun, working washing machines seemed to be fairly low down on the list of scholarly priorities.

There are at least a dozen machines in the launderette, only half of them actually capable of switching on, even less so managing to _stay_ on. That’s not even getting started on the embarrassments that were called the dryers.

But she’s nothing if not adaptable. She knows her sister would have been in the Dean’s office months ago pulling strings, with several of their brothers and uncles on the phone being steamrolled into writing a cheque or two, but that’s never really been Arya’s style.

She embraces college life, fully, and she fully plans on taking a stand about the importance of clean clothes (especially when some people in her intro to phonetics seminar haven’t mastered the art of properly applying deodorant yet) at the next students union meeting.

Until then though, she has to fully embrace the shitty launderette.

The good thing about doing laundry in a launderette nobody really wants to use? It’s pretty much always quiet. So it’s no surprise to her that only one or two people come and go whilst she sits on the mildly uncomfortable bench, coffee in hand, with her earphones in and her head buried in her book. Another good thing is that the quiet at least gives her a chance to read over her study notes for her big exam tomorrow.

She manages to get a lot of work done, by the time the machine starts making the most unsettling noise imaginable. It squeaks to a halt and a red light starts weakly flashing, reassuring her that the machine is just finished and not about to explode like a firework.

It’s only after she’s loaded her wet clothes into the dryer that she realises she’s out of coffee. She evaluates her options for a second - stay here, staring at her books, in a launderette somehow getting colder by the minute, or head to the campus cafe to refill.

Safe to say it’s an easy choice for her as she packs up her things.

_____

Winter in Riverrun is nothing compared to winter in Winterfell.

The climate is usually fairly predictable in the Riverlands, in that summer is summer and winter is winter, as opposed to the constant chill in the air the North brings all year round. But when that predictability goes out of the window, no one seems to know how to deal with it the way they do back home. Riverrun has had an unusual amount of snowfall for over two weeks now, turning the usually dry (or, at the very worst, muddy) ground into something bearing more of a resemblance to an ice rink.

Arya loves the snow, always has - as a child, she could have spent hours running around in the snow. She even credits her good aim with Jon’s complete inability to dodge a snowball (which, only now does she realise was him humouring his baby sister). Now, it only reminds her of her father, and she can’t help but smile every time she opens her bedroom window to a blanket of snow stretching as far as her eyes could see.

With the snow, she feels like she’s home again.

But now the past forty-eight hours has brought showers of rain, turning the heaps of beautiful snow into damp slush.

It may not be as nice to look at, or walk in, but it still takes Arya to a really good place. It makes her smile and brings her a sort of comfort she didn’t know she had needed since she’d left home in the first place to come study here.

She quickly text Shireen on her way over from the launderette, asking her friend if she felt like joining her for a late-night latte. As much as she appreciated the peace and quiet from time to time, things were pretty hectic and a late-evening catch up with her old friend felt like exactly what she needed. It took Shireen just seconds to send back an enthusiastic yes, promising to be at the cafe in fifteen minutes.

The campus cafe opens late, thankfully, and isn’t that far a walk from the launderette so she’s in the warmth within five minutes. It’s a much nicer, newer part of the campus - warm, cozy, with plenty of space to relax or work. The good coffee helps too, even if it’s absurdly overpriced.

Looking around, she notes a few stragglers scattered around the cafe as usual. Most of them with piles of books across their laps or a laptop on the table - or both. She obviously isn’t the only one with the big exam in barely twelve hours.

There’s only one person in front of her in the line, so she quickly lifts her eyes to study the menu board, despite knowing she’s going to order the exact same thing she always does.

Judging by the lop-sided grin she gets from the short, dark-haired barista, she thinks he knew she was going to order it too. As she waits, her phone lights up in her hand. In that second, she expects the message to be from Shireen, so it stops her in her tracks for a second when she sees Theon’s name.

There’s a brief moment of panic about everyone Theon could possibly be texting her about out of the blue, at nearly ten o'clock on a Tuesday night, before she reads the message at lightning speed just to find out he wants Christmas gift ideas for Robb.

She snickers to herself, sending him back a message in no uncertain terms that Robb most definitely already has an out-of-this-world gift ready and waiting for Theon. She doesn't know that for definite, but she words it as if she does, hoping to send her brother’s boyfriend into a spiral before she helps him out.

Her cup of coffee is put in front of her and the barista is fully grinning at her.

“Arry,” the short, dark-haired barista states matter of factly.

She pauses for a second, because she isn’t sure what to actually say, before she realises he thinks that’s her name. A second later, she realises he didn’t ask her for her name and that’s probably why. His eyes are kind and his enthusiasm at remembering what he thinks is her name is adorable, so she doesn’t really want to correct him.

He seems to read her confused-turned-awkward face though, as his smile drops slightly and his confident features seem to deflate. “That is your name, right? Damn, it’s not your name.”

“Arya,” she laughs gently, reaching for the coffee on the counter. His face scrunches up and she can tell he’s about to apologise, so she quickly jumps in before he can. “You weren’t far off. Not a bad effort. Thank you for the coffee...” her eyes fall to his t-shirt, looking for a name tag, but there isn’t one. “Don’t like people knowing _your_ name?”

He shrugs. “Customers usually think it’s a joke. Not worth the hassle.”

She’s intrigued to say the least, but a cough from behind her makes her aware of other people waiting for her to move, so she just gives her unnamed barista another smile before heading to an empty table in the corner.

By the time she settles down and pulls out her notepad, Shireen’s there - notably, far too energetic for this time on a Tuesday evening.

Arya quirks an eyebrow at her as she falls into her seat. “Sorry, why are you so... _bouncy_?”

“Oh, I’ve been awake for nearly seventeen hours and I’ve drunk double my body weight in caffeine,” Shireen shrugs, stirring her fresh cup of coffee.

“Sounds about right,” she says, taking a sip of her own drink. “You’re nervous then? About the exam?”

What reason Shireen has to be nervous about exams, she has no idea. The girl’s one of the brightest people she’s ever met; knows everything about everything, always had her head buried in a book, could recite historical facts as if they were lyrics to the newest Sand Snakes single.

Shireen nods erratically, black hair falling around the place from her half-up messy bun. “Just a little,” she looks up at her, pauses for just a second, tilts her head to the side like a puppy. “You’re not?”

“Not really.” She knows her own ability - she knows she can ace the exam no problem as long as her head’s in it, and she knows the same is true of Shireen. “You shouldn’t be either.”

They finish their coffees, then another, all whilst going back and forth to each others’ notes. She always likes to think that she works better alone - she’s more than capable, after all, but she can’t deny that she finds last-minute study sessions much more enjoyable with company.

It’s only as they’re half way out of the door that Arya realises her bag feels too light, and she can’t shake the sudden feeling that she’s forgetting something. A quick glance back to their table reveals some of her stationary underneath the chair she’d been sat on just moments ago.

“You take off, I’ll see you in the morning,” she tells Shireen, shuffling back to their table, - there’s no point in her waiting when they’re heading in opposite directions anyway. “Try to get some sleep, please.”

She hears her highly-caffeinated friend grumble some sort of response about how adaptable her sleeping pattern is, before she’s out of sight and the bell above the cafe door confirms her exit.

She bends down, hovering on the soles of her feet so as to not have to kneel on the questionable looking floor.

Reaching underneath the chair and grabbing hold of her things, she lets her bag hang off her shoulder as she hurries to pack her things back up.

She doesn’t think to look up or even really concentrate as she stands and turns - immediately colliding with a man’s chest.

From impact alone, she realises he must have a chest sculpted of stone under the black t shirt, and as she bounces backwards, her eye level lands perfectly on the strong arms that confirm he could have been in Ancient Greece.

She opens her mouth to apologise to him for the body crash, but the guy is scowling at her.

“Watch it,” he snaps at her, his eyebrows creased together, with a cold glare in his blue eyes.

She’s not sure why it takes her aback as much as it does, but it definitely does.

Any thought of an apology goes out of the window in a flash, and her entire mood changes along with it.

“It was an accident, asshole,” she snarls, feeling herself getting more irritated as he looks at her.

He looks her up and down for a second, so subtly she may not have noticed it if she was anyone else, but she does notice. She expects a quick retort back, an insult or whatever bullshit he could think of that he’d assume would insult her, but he doesn’t say anything. Just rolls his shoulders back and scoffs.

“Well maybe you should be more careful in future, _Princess_ ,” he says and then he walks away.

Just… walks away. Leaves her standing in the middle of the cafe, furious at a man whose name she doesn’t even know, over an interaction that lasted all of fifteen seconds.

_____

She’s not easily embarrassed, but she might have been if anyone saw the way she's stomping through the snow back to the launderette.

A frustration has built up inside of her so quickly and she isn’t sure what to do with it. It’s gone eleven o’clock now and she has an exam in less than ten hours. That’s what she needs to be focusing on, she tells herself, not some arrogant little prick who thinks he can talk to people however he likes because he’s pretty. Or whatever.

She just wants to get her laundry and go home. The thought of getting into her warm bed, with her cozy clean pyjamas on, brings her some comfort at least. She might even make herself a cup of hot cocoa like her mother used to do when she was upset or angry.

(Catelyn Stark was far from being the most forgiving person in Westeros, but she was good to her children, and she knew how to make a damn good cup of hot cocoa.)

There’s nobody in the launderette when she gets there, which definitely isn’t a massive surprise for this time of night.

She moves to put her bag down on the wooden bench and frowns when she sees someone’s moved her laundry basket onto the bench, when she remembers leaving it on top of her machine like always. Assuming someone must have just knocked it over, she doesn’t give it another thought, instead picking it up and putting it back down in front of the machines to load her laundry into it.

She doesn’t give it another thought.

Until she opens the dryer, pulls out the clothes - they’re warm and lovely. A lot warmer than she was expecting, actually, since the machine probably finished a while ago. It’s only when she pulls out a hoodie that would engulf her (she could probably fit herself in it a good three or four times) that she realises they aren’t her clothes.

Confusion washes over her and for a second she wonders what else her unnamed barista put in that flat white. She looks around her quickly, checking nobody else is there, before loading the mysterious pile of men’s clothing back into that machine.

She checks the next two dryers over to find them empty. She knows for a fact none of the other three machines even switch on, confirmed by the ‘out of order’ signs stuck on each one of them.

It’s a panic she never expected to feel in the middle of the launderette, but it’s a very real one as she considers the option that someone has stolen her clothes. That theory leads her straight into the conclusion that some perv has loaded his washing, and seen the opportunity to take a bunch of her tank tops and underwear home with him.

She doesn’t plan on sounding like a crazy person with a paranoid conspiracy theory until she checks all viable options though, so she sets on checking every single machine in the place in case she’s on some weird lame prank show.

Knowing how many weird, lame, prank-obsessed boys there are at this university - she wouldn't be surprised.

In the next dryer over, the one everyone knows doesn’t work properly, she finds her clothes.

Wet. Dripping wet and soggy.

And not at all ideal for the warm, cozy, hot cocoa filled dream she was fantasising about just two minutes ago. No, any sense of calm or comfort she got from that train of thought has quickly bolted and now she finds herself furious - again.

Because nobody jumps out at her and yells she’s been punk’d. There’s no distinct laughter that she got used to receiving - and giving out - growing up with four brothers (plus Theon). She’s not being pranked.

She knows damn well that she put her clothes in that dryer and she knows damn well that somebody took them out. She doesn’t think it would take a rocket scientist to figure out it’s whatever pea-brained moron those gigantic gym clothes belong to.

It’s slightly irrational, she knows that in the back of her mind somewhere, but she’s had her fill of arrogant jerks thinking they can do whatever they want with no consequences for one evening. So she loads the dry clothes back into her laundry basket and storms back outside.

It’s just starting to rain - which is making the leftover snow even more slushy and wet. She doesn’t even bother to check if anyone’s around before she’s tossing the clothes into the snow.

It’s childish, but it feels good. It feels good to watch this guy’s warm, fluffy clothes sink into the slush. It gives her the release she’s needed, but it lasts just seconds before she realises her frustration is still there.

As quickly as she can, she heads back inside and pulls her notepad out of her bag. She rips out a piece and scribbles down a note, smiling to herself at a newfound sense of satisfaction. Once she does that, she collects her damp laundry and finally leaves.

Nobody’s there to claim the men’s clothes yet, so she simply throws the note down into the pile, watches it melt into the snow with his belongings.

Yeah. That’ll teach him.

_____

She has a hot shower instead when she gets back to her flat, then makes herself that well deserved hot cocoa, and gets herself into bed. She doesn’t get too cozy, though, no - she’s expecting someone, after all. If someone doesn’t show up then she’ll know he’s a coward as well as a selfish dick.

So, instead, she waits. Patiently.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to wait long. When the knock on the door (angry in itself) comes, she can’t help but smirk. It’s been an hour of waiting - and she’s by now pushed any thought of that exam in eight and a half hours - out of her mind completely.

It’s a little petty, how she lets him carry on knocking, but it’s a little petty to take someone’s clothes out of a dryer to use it for yourself. So it’s the least this asshole, whoever he is, deserves.

She is glad she’s the only one at home though, with Meera doing night shifts at the hospital and Myrcella staying with her latest squeeze for the night.

Eventually, the knocking at the door turns into a continuous banging and she starts to worry that someone will ruin her fun and call the police on him soon if she doesn’t give in.

Before she even opens the door, she’s proud of herself. Immensely.

She swings the door open, a smile plastered across her face - innocent yet smug all at the same time.

That smile drops, immediately.

“ _You_?”

The guy from the cafe is shooting daggers at her, her note clutched in his hand. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I think you know, actually,” she crosses her arms across her chest, an empty laugh leaving her lips.

He presses his lips together (it does cross her mind that he has very nice lips, not that it matters) and she hears him breath so loudly he must do it on purpose. He holds his note in front of him, giving her an annoyed glance before he starts reading it back to her.

“To the person who stopped the dryer to take out my clothes and put their own in….” she thinks he does the dramatic pause quite well, to be fair, as he lifts his eyes up to glare at her. “Yeah, you’re an asshole. Unfortunately for you, so am I, so you can find your lovely, warm clothes freezing outside in the snow. If there’s a problem, come see me in flat 124.”

She doesn’t say a word as he looks up at her expectedly. If this guy seriously thinks she’s about to apologise, which he seems to, he has badly misinterpreted that note.

When she doesn’t respond, he points at her door. “Flat 124.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve acknowledged you can read.”

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

She shrugs. “I paid for my clothes to be dried, you didn’t.”

He looks slightly taken aback by that. “Oh, so you’ve just assumed I’m a freeloading thief then. Nice one.”

“Did you or did you not take my clothes out of the pay-for-use dryer to use it for yourself?”

“Did not.”

“A liar as well as an arrogant, rude jerk. What a treat you are.”

He rolls his eyes at her. “You don’t even fuckin’ know me. If you let me in maybe I’ll tell you exactly what happened to your precious designer garments, Milady.”

Princess. Milady. Part of her wants to question why he’s assumed she’s rich. He’s not exactly wrong but nobody else picks up on it until they hear her last name somehow. Either he knows who she is or he’s just… weirdly perceptive.

She steps back and he steps inside. “They’re not designer garments, asshole, but they’re still mine and I don’t appreciate some perv going through my shit.”

“Perv as well now. You don’t let up, do you?”

She’s glad she manages to close the door before he says that so loudly, at least.

“Hey, you’re the one banging on my door in the middle of the night.”

He holds up the note and just looks at her, disapprovingly.

She won’t lie, it’s kinda hot. He’s kinda very hot.

“You invited me here,” he says. “Bit stalkerish actually, walking straight into me and then just hours later deceiving me into coming to your flat alone.”

She laughs. “Maybe if you hadn’t messed with my clothes.”

“I didn’t do shit to your clothes, you put them in the broken dryer.”

She pauses for a second. The broken dryer is where she found her clothes - but he would know that if he was the one who put them there. “No, I didn’t.”

He laughs, folding his arms across his chest, with her note still clutched tightly in his fist. “Yeah, you did. I know you did because I thought what kind of moron doesn’t know by now that’s the machine that starts the job but doesn’t finish it.”

She doesn’t think he’s right but she suddenly realises she has no proof that he’s wrong. “Whatever, you’re still a dick.”

“You throw my fresh clothes into the snow and I’m the dick?”

“Yes.”

Another laugh, though that one seems to be almost genuine. She notices his eyes falling to her bare legs, and they linger for just a second long enough for the mood to shift entirely. “You’re insane.”

She shrugs. “I was in a bad mood. I was in the cafe and this prick was really rude to me an-”

“Yeah, Hot Pie gets like that sometimes,” he scoffs, as if she’s in on the joke, and she certainly isn’t.

“...What the hell is Hot Pie?”

He scoffs again and she suddenly wants to shut him up more than anything. “The barista that served you. Bet you don’t tip either, do you, your Highness?”

That riles her up. Again. “Stop making assumptions about me, you prick.”

He laughs and now she knows for sure it’s genuine, from the way his eyes crease and he throws his head back ever so slightly. “Like you did to me, you mean?”

“You hardly made a good first impression, did you? It’s not like I knew both the jerks that ruined my evening were the same jerk.”

She’s not sure when they moved to be so close to one another, but she can feel his breath on her chin now. Not that she minds; for an self-obsessed idiot, he smells good. Really, really good. His eyes are so blue she feels like she can see through them and yet she just wants to wipe that smirk off his face.

“You ruined your own evening by putting your clothes in a broken machine.”

Arya can admit when she’s wrong, she can. But she’s not going to. “Did nobody ever tell you that lying makes you way less hot?”

She only realises what she’s just said when his smirk somehow gets even more smug and annoying.

It’s not the way she was planning on confronting this guy, to say the least. She’d been prepared to fight him over this, but now all she wants to do is stick her tongue down his throat.

“You think I’m hot?”

“No.”

 _Yes_.

Judging by the way his eyes are hooded and he licks his lips when she pushes herself onto her tiptoes, she thinks he wants the same thing she does.

“You don’t even know my name,” he whispers, his breath heavy against her.

“Good. I don’t want to know your name,” is her response.

It’s the last thing either one of them say with their clothes still on.

_____

She isn’t even really sure how they made it to her bedroom.

She remembers it as a flurry of hands and mouths; remembers that he tastes so good, smells so good, feels so good. He sets her entire body on fire with every touch and it feels so, so good.

It’s only the feeling of the bed dipping beside her that finally prompts her to open her eyes.

It’s still dark outside, but the sunrise is just starting to peek through her curtains, enough to cast a soft shadow over the figure next to her.

He’s sitting up, legs over the edge of the bed. Even hunched over the way he is, elbows on his knees, he looks tall. Strong.

She remembers just how strong he is. As she looks at him, it floods back to her; his hands on her thighs, in her hair, around her waist. She can feel every part of him all over her body.

She still doesn’t know his name; doesn’t need to know his name, has no interest in knowing his name, because that only complicates this.

He moves quietly as he stands to pull on his jeans, which surprises her because he’s so big and grouchy, but it’s hardly a surprise if he wants to sneak out without waking her. He doesn’t seem the type to stick around and ask her to breakfast.

She doesn’t remember him being quiet, only the satisfaction she got when she finally (and very successfully) shut up him. She remembers the deep, breathy moans that fell from his lips as she rode him.

He’s an ass. She remembers that as well. But he also _has_ a lovely ass.

An ass she thoroughly enjoyed last night.

He looks around her small bedroom and she instantly knows he’s trying to find his shirt. She lets him carry on for a second, but when the blind idiot is still staring at her bedroom floor as if it's made of lava, she decides to clue him in.

“On the chair.”

It’s obvious he’s startled by the sound of her voice, from the way his shoulder tense and he whips his head around. “Thanks. Sorry I woke you.”

He half-smiles at her, before he turns to the chair and spots his shirt crumpled up on the seat. She watches him pull it over his head, and she pushes herself to sit up, not bothering to cover up as the sheets slip down and expose the curve of her breasts. He’s seen enough of her already, after all.

“Mm, knew I’d get an apology out of you eventually,” she teases, pushing her hair out of her face.

He laughs. “Oh, is that what this was? Get me into bed just for the apology.”

“Duh. Did you not get that?”

They both laugh in unison. He’s fully dressed by now, and he awkwardly eyes her bedroom door. “I’ll, uh, see ya around then.”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

They just look at each other for a couple of seconds, and she half wonders if he’s a secret romantic who's going to give her his number or try to make this more than it was, but he doesn’t. It’s just a bit uncomfortable, and eventually he moves to leave.

“It’s Gendry, by the way,” he whispers breathily, hovering by the half-open door. “I know you didn’t want to know, but I didn’t want frozen laundry so tough shit.”

She smiles. “Arya.”

“Nice to meet you, Arya.”

_____

Her exams are over within the week. They all go as well as she expects them to, even the one where she was undeniably… distracted. From the lack of sleep, of course.

A week after that, she’s getting ready to leave for Winterfell for Christmas break.

Packing would be much easier if she didn’t have both her annoying roommates sitting on her bed questioning her about her sex life.

“You really haven’t seen him since?” Meera asks, disbelief written all over her face.

“Nope.”

Meera audibly scoffs. “Why didn’t you give him your number?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you said he was the best sex of your life,” Myrcella suggests, the words rolling off her tongue as if Arya’d asked the stupidest question of all time.

She can’t even stop herself from rolling her eyes, throwing a shirt into her rucksack. “And you said his lack of social media meant he was obviously a serial killer.”

“That’s definitely what it means, Arya.”

Myrcella had scoured every single social media platform (unprompted) she could find, expecting it to be fairly easy to track down a guy called Gendry, but to very little success. Arya hadn’t mentioned that she’d been to the cafe almost every single day and came dangerously close to asking Hot Pie the Barista if he knew where she could find him.

But, still, she hasn’t seen him once. She tells herself she’s not actively trying to find him, but she’s a little curious as to why she can’t find him. That’s all.

Plus… the best sex of her life.

As much as she doesn’t want to hear it, Meera’s the one who raises a legitimate concern about him. “Or maybe he has a girlfriend.”

Arya stops what she’s doing, thinking back to that night. “He said he was single.”

Myrcella groans loudly, throwing her head back so dramatically she almost bangs it against the wall. “They all say they’re single!”

“Well, I believed him then and I still do,” she shrugs, going back to her packing. “I don’t care that a guy I had sex with once doesn’t have social media.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes, thank the Gods, but it means she has to physically stop herself from thinking about him. It’s not like her, she’s not the clingy type and neither of them mean anything to the other, but there was just something about him. About them, together.

“You know, I know several excellent private investigato-”

“Cella, please do not involve any of your weird uncles in my love life.”

_____

It’s hard, being back at Winterfell.

As much as she’s found herself missing home over the past few months, it never gets easier to face Christmas without her Father. People keep telling her it’ll get easier - they’ve been telling her that for three years now, since the day he died - but she still can’t see how. He’ll never be here with her again.

Jon doesn’t come home for Christmas. He did that first year, but she thinks that was for her, Bran and Rickon’s sake more than a desire to be there. Even her sister’s spending her holidays with her future in-laws in Highgarden this year, and she says she’ll be back for New Year’s instead but Arya doesn’t believe her for a second.

Robb’s there, at least. Bran and Rickon too, of course. It’s nice to spend the time with them all.

Her mother pesters her, for most of it. Questions her constantly about her love life, tells her she needs to call her more often, reminds her several times that Elmar Frey is still so very fond of her.

“I’m not interested in Elmar Frey,” she reminds her, every time. “Never have been, never will be.”

Catelyn scoffs, every time. “I don’t see why ever not.”

One reason is because he’s an absolute twat who somehow manages to be tedious and repulsive at the same time, but she resists telling her mother that. She also resists telling her mother that the other reason is because she can’t stop thinking about the cocky, rude, gorgeous asshole she had a one night stand with before she even knew his damn name.

_____

The day she decides to stop looking for him is the day she finds him.

She’s in the library one afternoon. She has her earphones in and her music playing, as she doodles into her notebook (whilst convincing herself it counts as studying). Even still, she’s nothing if not acutely aware of her surroundings at all times now, so she senses something out of place and suddenly all she can feel is a set of eyes on her.

A subtle glance up leads her straight to him. He looks down as she looks up, but she isn’t stupid. She eyes him for just a few seconds longer, letting her eyes linger on his frame. He has headphones on too, what looks like a sketchpad on the desk in front of him.

For all she’s been keeping an eye out for him for most of the past two months, not once did she consider what she wanted to find him for. The memories of him ripping her clothes off and making her feel things she’d never felt before had kept her company almost every night (sometimes more than once a night) but that’s all that they were - memories. It was one night and it didn’t matter that it was the most connected she had felt to another person in so, so long.

This was college and he’s a one night stand. He’s not the first hook-up she’s ever had and she doubts he’ll be the last, either.

Yet, she still finds herself throwing caution to the wind and approaching him. The worst he can do is reject her, but there’s something in her gut telling her that isn’t going to happen. His eyes keep flickering up at her, as he twirls a pencil in between his fingers. Just as she reaches him and pulls out a chair, she notices him pausing his music.

“So, are you a pervert after all or just a full blown serial killer?” she asks, biting back a smirk as she takes a seat next to him. It’s far from her smoothest chat up line, but it gets the desired effect when his eyebrows shoot up, prompting her to put her question in context. “The lack of social media.”

He laughs dryly, fully taking out his earphones. “Been looking for me, Milady?”

“Definitely not,” she rolls her eyes, choosing to ignore that term of endearment (she thinks) he appears to have settled on, as well as the white lie that falls effortlessly from her lips. “Same can’t be said of my roommates though - and they definitely think the fact they can’t find a single selfie or tweet with your name attached means you’re a secret murderer.”

He puts down his pencil, lets out an exhale and shrugs. “Social media’s bullshit. Just a way for people to put on a show so they can feel better about their shitty lives and I don’t need to feel better about my shitty life.”

She studies his face for a few moments. She believes him, fully, never particularly saw the cause for concern anyway. But she knows how to do two things with him so far - how to insult him and how to fuck him. So, one thing at a time. “...Hm.”

He looks at her in amusement. “Hm?”

“Yeah, _hm_ ,” she repeats, punctuating the sound even more so that time. Another thought pops into her head and she decides to touch on all bases. “And you’re single?”

That time, it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Wow, you really think I’m an ass, don’t you?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Course it’s a yes.”

“Good,” she smiles.

He smiles back at her for a moment, before he creases his eyebrows together and picks up his pencil again, tapping it against his paper. “So, now we know I’m not a liar, a thief, a cheat, a perv, a mass murderer…”

In fairness, she only ever genuinely thought he was the first two, but she doesn’t tell him that because he somehow seems to know.

He laughs. “All I know about you is your name.”

“What else do you want to know?” she asks, pulling at her black denim skirt as she makes a show of slowly folding her legs - which draws his eyes downwards just as she expects.

“Why don’t we start with you telling me why you came over here and distracted me?”

“I came over here to ask you to please, _kindly_ , stop staring at me,” she bats her eyes innocently, pressing her lips together. “But obviously you just find me too distracting.”

“I wasn’t staring at you,” he smirks at her, dropping his pencil again to fold his arms across his chest. “Sorry to disappoint.”

She tilts her head to the side, looking at him matter of factly. “Yes you were.”

“I wasn’t staring at you,” he repeats, leaning in closer to her. The move very much takes her back to the last time he moved in closer to her, so close she can feel his breath. “I wasn’t staring at you and you weren’t looking for me. That’s fair, right?”

She bites on her bottom lip, studying his features. She doesn’t even know what it is about him; sure, he’s nice to look at her, sure he was …. fine in bed. But something about him irritates her so much that it stokes a fire deep in her belly. “Has anyone ever told you just how bloody annoying you are?”

He laughs that laugh - deep yet careless at the same time - again. “Couple people have mentioned it, yeah. Anyone ever told you you’re a massive pain in the ass?”

“A couple of people have mentioned it, yes.”

She waits for another stupid remark - she hopes for another stupid remark, because apparently this is what turns on her now. Arguing about nothing with a man she still knows nothing about. But he doesn’t say a word - just keeps his eyes on hers, his mouth slightly agape, and she’s only a little distracted by how fast his chest is rising and falling as he looks at her.

“My flat’s across the street.”

This time, she knows exactly how they end up ripping each others’ clothes off. They’re out of the library at lightning speed, and within minutes, he has her pressed up against his front door, his mouth devouring every inch of her body.

She didn’t think it was possible, but it’s even better this time, only for hearing her name fall amongst those breathy moans against her ear.

_____

He’s still asleep when she stirs the next morning.

She has no idea what this is between them now. Can you still call a guy your one night stand after the second night? With the exception of her high-school boyfriend, Ned Dayne, she’d never put in a repeat performance. Solely because she had no desire to be with any of those guys again.

The sex was good. The sex was fantastic. Last night happened because she just needed to double check the sex was as great as she remembered it from the first time, that’s what she’ll tell the girls when they no doubt question where she’s been all night.

Part of her wants to wake him up or at least wait for him to wake up. Because there’s no harm in triple checking.

But she catches sight of his alarm clock on his desk, and suddenly remembers she has to meet Shireen for breakfast before the 10 am class they have together. The clock tells her it’s 8:07, which gives her less than an hour to get back to her place, have a shower, change her clothes and get to the cafe. Doable, if she leaves now.

Unfortunately for her, his bed is pressed up against the wall, and she’s on the wrong side.

She manages to climb over him, trying to do so as elegantly as she can as to not wake him. By the time her feet are on the ground, she feels like she’s achieved something far greater than she has. She stands up properly, picking up all her clothing that’s scattered across his bedroom floor and quickly pulls on her underwear.

“Not the worst view I’ve ever woken up to.”

She turns to see him looking at her, the sheets pooling around his waist. At least she already knows he’s no good at making a grand escape in peace the next morning either.

“Yeah, guess you’re not so bad yourself.”

Arya pulls her skirt up, zipping it up. She can feel his eyes burning into the back of her, even as she grabs hold of her t-shirt and pulls it over her head, fully covering her. Even if she couldn’t feel him looking at her, she can see him in the mirror, and the look on his face as he eyes her is almost enough to make her want to take her clothes back off and jump him again.

 _Almost_.

“You do look hot the morning after, I’ll give you that,” He continues, with the laziest half-smile on his face as he sits up. “Thought it might just have been a fluke before.”

“No, I always wake up like this,” she laughs as she ties her hair back out of her face. “I did try not to wake you.”

She sits back down on the edge of his bed as she steps into her pumps.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, I have a seminar anyway. Are you hungry? Do you - do you want some breakfast before you go or…?” He asks, ducking his head and letting his black hair fall over his forehead. The question is almost awkward and if she didn’t know any better, she might think he looks… almost _shy_ about it. “I think we might have some cereal here somewhere.”

“Oh, I bet you offer cereal to all the girls that spend the night in your bed,” she teases, throwing a smirk over her shoulder and expecting a snarky comeback or dry laugh in return. But she doesn’t get either of those things, and for a moment, it confuses her.

“Look, d’you want the cereal or not?”

It’s not an offer that she was expecting. Maybe he just feels awkward because she’s at his place now, instead of the other way round, and he thinks it’s just the polite thing to do for a girl when you’ve slept with her twice. She doesn’t have him down as the polite type though, so she assumes he’s just trying to keep her sweet and get her out as soon as possible.

“No, I’m meeting a friend. Thanks.” He nods, and she doesn’t know if it’s embarrassment or disappointment in his eyes, but she again chooses not to overthink it. Instead, she takes a deep breath as subtly as she can. “Listen… do you want to give me your number this time?”

He simply laughs at that, and any hint of a person other than the arrogant, unapologetic dick disappears. “Wasn’t getting the impression you could stand me, to be honest.”

“Don’t worry, I still think you’re awful,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But the sex…”

It seems to take him a second to realise where she’s going with it. “So you want to fuck again?”

“You have a real way with words, don’t you?” She frowns, pulling her bag onto her shoulder. “Yes, I want to fuck again. Preferably on a regular basis.”

“You’re asking me to be your fuck buddy.”

She rolls her eyes, pulling her phone out of her bag. “No. If anything, I’m offering to be yours.”

“Charming as ever,” he smirks. “But you’re right. The sex is good, I think you’re hot, you definitely think I’m hot-”

“Get over yourself.”

“And we are good together,” he says, crossing his arms across his bare torso. “In bed, obviously.”

She shrugs. “Exactly. It doesn’t have to be any more than that. Call it friends with benefits.”

“...Don’t you have to be _friends_ to be friends with benefits?”

_____

Their hookups become a routine for both of them. Fridays and Tuesdays become _their_ nights. She usually texts him on Fridays, and she knows to expect a text from him on Tuesdays. It’s an unspoken agreement but an agreement all the same.

It works. It’s casual, fun, and still feels so, so good.

The only thing she really knows about Gendry, after a month of hooking up and sneaking around their respective roommates, is his class and work schedule. He works at a 24/7 convenience store just off campus on Wednesday and Thursday nights, and he picks up the odd Sunday shift here and there too. He’s in his final year of uni, studying Civil Engineering.

An advantage of knowing his schedule? Knowing the best time to let him know she’s thinking about him. That, usually, is when he has a lecture on Wednesday morning and she’s making the most of her day off from the comfort of her own bed. Or shower. Or, one time, on the floor in front of her tall mirror.

She’s wearing an old shirt, which she unbuttons just enough to show the desired amount of cleavage. Kicking the covers off her body, she holds her phone above her - making sure not to get her face in the photo - and takes a few snaps.

 **arya** : hope you’re enjoying your lecture  
 **arya** : hope you enjoy this more

[ _image received_ ]

She waits patiently for his response and she doesn’t even realise how hard she’s biting down on her lip until it starts to ache. Luckily - for her and for her poor lip - it takes just a couple of minutes before her phone screen lights up with notification of a message from Gendry.

 **gendry** : you are so lucky i’m sitting in the back row  
 **gendry** : fucking hell

 **arya** : to think u left me here like this to go sit in the back row :( how tragic for u

 **gendry** : you wish i was still there is what you’re saying

 **arya** : i can take care of myself thank u  
 **arya** : just think it’s a shame ur missing out <3  
 **arya** : quick question is ur phone on silent

 **gendry** : yeah why

[ _video received_ ]

He doesn’t respond at first, but by the beauty (and curse) of read receipts, she knows he’s seen the video. He is in class, she remembers, and suddenly that doesn’t seem as hot as it did just a minute ago.

 **arya** : hello  
 **arya** : are you dead  
 **arya** : gendry you can’t leave me on read for a video like that  
 **arya** : i know you’re in class but help a girl out here damn

He starts typing again as soon as she presses send on the last message.

 **gendry** : i’m going to be at your door in five minutes

Job well done, she thinks.

_____

They start to text each other a lot. For a while, beyond the odd message looking for a lost belt or jacket, the conversation is nearly always deliberately sexual. Just like it was at the beginning.

It’s almost an accident when that changes and neither of them even realise it at first.

She’s in her room alone, both Myrcella and Meera are out for the night, and she’s bored. He messages her first and they both know where it’s going to go.

He prefers texting to facetime, which she tells him half-teasingly is just weird when it comes to the ability to see her naked body, but even she’ll admit he’s better at the dirty talk when he can’t see her. He gets too awkward about it when the words actually have to come out of his mouth (she thinks it’s dumb but oddly endearing).

She receives a notification from Shireen and its only a few minutes later she realises she’s left Gendry on read.

 **arya** : sorry i got distracted

 **gendry** : ????

 **arya** : i just saw THE cutest meme of all time  
 **arya** : omg

 **gendry** : memes ain’t supposed to be cute. they’re supposed to be funny

 **arya** : well this one was funny AND cute  
 **arya** : so don’t be a dick for once in your life please  
 **arya** : LOOK

[ _image received_ ]

 **arya** : HOW CUTE

 **gendry** : …. i’m flat out asking you to sit on my face and you’re looking at dog memes

 **arya** : i sit on your face twice a week  
 **arya** : i’ve never seen a dog so happy to be wearing sunglasses  
 **arya** : come on tell me that isn’t the cutest dog ever??? HE’S SUCH A GOOD BOI GENDRY

 **gendry** : eh it’s fine

 **arya** : who refers to a dog as IT  
 **arya** : you are literally the devil  
 **arya** : and i will break you

_____

She tip-toes back from the bathroom, just to find Gendry wide awake and on his phone.

“What are you laughing at?” Arya asks, climbing back into bed.

He holds his phone up to show her the screen. “That’s you.”

It’s a meme; two separate photos of young women standing on a shelf struggling to reach for something on top. He decides to read it to her. _When you're an independent woman but you’re also short._

“Fuck off, Gendry.”

He expresses his point that it _is_ her because there’s no chance she’d be able to get a bag of sugar down if it was on the top shelf. So she, obviously, drags him to the grocery store the first thing the next morning just to prove she can reach the top shelf.

(She can’t.)

_____

His roommates are both gone for the weekend, some festival or something he had no interest in attending. She doesn’t ask why, because he doesn’t seem at all close with his roommates (not anything like she is with Meera and Myrcella anyway) so it’s hardly surprising to her if he doesn’t want to share a tent in a field with them for two nights.

The best thing about it is that it gives them free rein over his entire place - which is really just the tiny kitchen and tiny living room, but they can still cover more ground than they do when they’re confined to his bed.

The lounge is hardwood floor, so she doesn’t even get carpet burn when they take a tumble off the sofa mid jeans-removal and end up going at it on the floor. He has her on her back whilst his mouth does things she didn’t know mouths were capable of doing, and he pulls her up onto her knees to finally slide into her.

She’s found a new appreciation for that position since being with him, mainly because he actually touches her everywhere he can reach from behind her (that’s most places, his arms are ridiculous), kisses her all over too even when they finish.

He sits up onto the sofa and offers her a hand. Usually, she’d have a snarky comment or an eye roll to offer him, but she’s too satiated to even bother and just takes it, letting him pull her to her feet. She tells him she’ll be back in a minute and heads to the bathroom, where she uses the toilet and washes her hands.

She wishes there was a toothbrush to use, but that’ll have to wait. It’s then that she notices the purple toothbrush in the dish, next to the one she knows is his because she’s seen him use it and there’s nobody else even here. She wonders if she’s not the only one he’s fucking on his living room floor. They always use protection but that doesn’t change the fact they do this regularly, and she wants to know if there’s a risk he’s not telling her about should something go wrong with that protection.

When she gets back a few minutes later, he offers her a blanket as if he hasn’t seen her body every way humanly possible. She still takes it anyway, throwing it over her lap. He’s put the TV on, but it’s just adverts playing so she takes the chance to ask the question.

“Do you do this with anyone else?” She asks, and he turns his head to look at her. “The casual sex, I mean. I don’t care if you do, at least I don't think I do. It’s fine, but if this is more of a risk than it was two months ago then I think I deserve to know that.”

He looks slightly stunned, and very confused by her sudden questioning, but they’re having sex twice a week (or more) so he can deal with having an awkward conversation about their damn sexual health.

“Arya, I don’t,” he says, and she knows from how serious his eyes are that he’s telling her the truth. “I haven’t been with anyone since we’ve been...whatever we’ve been doing.”

She nods. “Okay. I just want us to be careful, you know?”

“Yeah, of course,” he agrees adamantly, nodding along with her.

“Thank you.”

Neither of them say anything for a second, both of them turning towards the TV, but out of the corner of her eye, she can see him opening and closing his mouth.

“Are you sleeping with other people?” He eventually builds up the courage to ask, and even then she can tell he’s hesitant, but she can’t put her finger on why.

“No, haven’t seen anyone else since that first night with you,” she answers honestly with a shrug.

He seems relieved from the way his body loosens up, but a second later, his eyebrows form a frown across his forehead. “Why did you think I was?”

“The toothbrush,” she purses her lip. “There’s a purple toothbrush in your bathroom.”

He laughs. “You’ve been here at least weekly for two months and you don’t know that one of my roommates is a girl?”

Well, she _didn’t_ know that actually, no. But that’s not the point.

“I didn’t think it was a girl’s toothbrush because it’s purple, dummy, that’s called stereotyping,” she rolls her eyes, fingers pulling at the cotton blanket. “I just didn’t think it was a roommate’s because you said your roommates are all gone for the weekend.”

He laughs again. “Yeah, they are, and it looks like Jeyne forgot to pack her toothbrush.”

 _Jeyne_. The absolute worst part of her brain makes her think that’s a pretty girl name.

“Oh. Well that makes sense.”

He leans over to reach for his phone on the coffee table. “They’re probably not there yet, I’ll text her and tell her so they can stop at a store. She’ll freak without her toothbrush for the whole weekend.”

It’s only as the theme song comes on that she realises what he’s watching on TV.

“Wait, do you actually watch this show? I’m obsessed with it.”

“It’s kinda a guilty pleasure,” he says, looking up from his phone and shooting her a death glare. “Don’t you dare tell anyone because I _absolutely_ will claim you’re lying.”

She laughs, watching him set his phone down on the arm of the sofa. “It’s okay, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Do you think she’ll choose him?” He asks, pointing the TV remote at the screen where a young man and woman in swimwear were sat together pondering their relationship choices as if their lives depended on it.

“Definitely,” she answers assuredly, quirking an eyebrow at his lack of response. “Oh, don’t tell me you think she’s going to go for the other one?”

“The posh prick, yeah. They always do.”

She gives him a shove. “That’s not true. Most of the guys on here are awful anyway, they all just want one thing.”

“Casual sex?” He offers, making a show of leaning back and dropping his eyes her half-naked frame.

“I was going to say social media followers, but you wouldn’t know that as it’s above you,” she dramatically rolls her eyes, reaching over and grabbing his shirt to pull over herself. “Now shut up, I need to know if _this_ ,” she waves her finger at the screen, “gross little scumbag’s going to try and publicly embarrass a woman into liking him back.”

When they wake up the next morning, curled up together on the sofa, neither one of them stops to talk about how nice it felt. She pretends she doesn’t notice his hoodie tucked over her shoulders and covering most of her top half, that he was definitely still wearing when she fell asleep. She pretends she doesn’t wonder if he ever does this for Jeyne.

_____

He gives her a ride home one day when a storm suddenly hits the Riverlands. She’d stayed at his overnight and didn’t have a coat with her, so he drove her home and basically forced her to put his coat on when he couldn’t park right outside her front door.

She prays - prays to every God of the North and every God in all of the Seven Heavens - that there won’t be anyone home.

Unfortunately for her, the Gods betray her, and Myrcella and Meera are both there grinning at her from the sofa when she walks in.

She thinks their faces might freeze when they notice the very oversized men’s leather jacket.

“He’s basically your boyfriend, Arya.”

“No, he’s _not_ , Meera” she forces a laugh, as she unzips his drenched jacket and peels it off her shoulders. “He’s just… some stupid guy I hook up with sometimes.”

“Some stupid guy who drives you home the day after _and_ lends you his jacket,” Myrcella adds with a smirk, shovelling chocolate ice cream into her mouth.

She knows that… _maybe_ they’ve edged past casual sex ever so slightly and are now more in the _friends who have sex_ zone. But that’s it - nothing more, nothing less. Just two people who have really great sex, then have some food and watch some TV. Sometimes they stay the night, give the other a ride home in the pouring rain and wear each others’ clothes, but not in a romantic way or anything.

Neither of them are looking for any kind of relationship beyond that. She hasn’t got the time and, frankly, he just doesn’t seem to have any interest in pursuing a relationship with anyone.

It’s not like they’re going on dates or anything. They don’t run errands together or meet up for brunch.

So he’s categorically _not_ her boyfriend.

_____

They start studying together, when he texts her complaining about his roommates getting too rowdy one night and she invites him over to hers - promises no distractions, contrary to previous classroom distractions she may have provided him with.

She thinks it’s sweet, how important his education is to him. He’s never really said it out loud to her, but she can tell that he wants a decent career and is willing to work for it. He has a good work ethic, which she wouldn’t have really expected of him when they first met.

He’s also two years ahead of her, now coming to the end of his final year, and she knows how important it is that he aces the rest of the semester.

She’s the one who gets distracted, watching him sketching. At least she thinks that’s what he’s doing, because architecture and engineering aren’t really her area of expertise. He may be good at what he does, but she’s good at what she does, and they’re very different. If she started talking about linguistics, he wouldn’t have a clue.

“Do you know what you want to do after you graduate?” She asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

He shrugs. “I applied for post-grad and they’ve offered me a place.”

“Gendry! That’s amazing,” she says, with genuine surprise in her voice. She can’t stop her lips from breaking out into a grin - she knows how hard he’s worked to get here. “I had no idea you even wanted to do a Masters.”

“Why would you?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck. Her smile falters slightly at his words; it’s true, and she knows he probably doesn’t mean anything by it, but it stings a little. “It’s not a big deal, anyway. I don’t know if I’m going to accept the offer yet.”

That confuses her. “What are you talking about? If you’ve applied, you obviously want to do it. So why would you turn down an offer like that?”

“Because I only get a paid scholarship if I graduate from my degree with First Class Honours,” he sighs, sinking back into the sofa. He hesitates for a second, before he meets her eye. “If I achieve anything less than that then the Masters is just an extra 10k on top of a loan I already can’t afford.”

“You’ll get a First and you’ll get the scholarship,” She says, reaching for his hand before she even realises she’s doing it. He doesn’t stop her. “I know it.”

_____

“Do you like The First Sword of Braavos?” He asks her one day, completely out of the blue. “The film, I mean.”

She looks up from her phone and turns on her side to face him. He’s just looking directly up at the ceiling, seemingly trying to not look her in the eye, as if she hadn’t just popped his 69 cherry.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favourites actually. Why do you ask?”

“There’s a midnight showing at that new drive-in cinema downtown next week. My friend Anguy was meant to be taking this girl who has now, smartly, dumped his ass, so he asked if any of us wanted to buy the tickets before he tried to sell them online,” he says. “I know you like those kinds of _old-timey_ movies so I thought of you,” he shrugs, before he eventually turns to look at her as he continues, “I thought we could go, if you’re up for it..”

Her heart flutters slightly at the ' _I thought of you'_ and doesn’t really stop even once he’s stopped talking and is just looking at her for an answer.

“Really?” is the only thing she can muster, and it’s meant to sound more enthusiastic than it does.

“Yeah, course,” he smiles and it’s the first time she ever notices the way his eyes light up when he does. She sees how the panic suddenly sets in too, when she doesn’t immediately answer. “Not like a _date_ or anything, just..”

“No, right, yeah. Course,” she gives him a tight-lipped smile, her emotions suddenly all over the place. “Thanks, Gendry. I’d really like that.”

She thinks back to her conversation with Meera and Myrcella that one rainy afternoon, not that long ago. But it’s not a date - it’s not a date, he just said that himself, and the fact her heart stopped fluttering and sunk slightly at the clarification doesn’t matter at all.

Not at all.

He’s looking at her properly now and she can’t help but look at him. She’s known since the day they met that he’s gorgeous, but there’s something so beautiful about him when he’s like this. All flushed and soft and vulnerable with her.

“I’m, uh, just going to pop to the bathroom,” she says, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and grabbing his t-shirt off the floor. It’s become a habit now, one she thoroughly enjoys despite herself, and neither of them even questions her love for wearing his clothes.

She’s only in the bathroom a few minutes - she can’t help but laugh to herself as she notices Jeyne’s purple toothbrush - but when she comes out, she almost jumps out of her skin to see a man standing outside with his hand reached out as if he was about to grab the door handle.

“Sorry, didn’t realise there was anyone in here,” the guy is apologetic and quickly averts his eyes when he notices her choice of clothing.

It’s then that she recognises him. “Hot Pie, right?”

His face lights up - genuinely, he grins - and she wonders if he recognises her from the cafe or if he’s just really happy one of his roommates has mentioned him to a girl.

“Yeah, Hot Pie,” he chuckles happily. “And your name is Arya.”

“Arya,” she echoes, crossing her arms across her chest awkwardly. She’s an outgoing person but she really didn’t expect a bathroom conversation with the barista from the cafe - especially knowing it’s kind of obvious what she’s been doing.

Hot Pie doesn't seem to feel the same. “I’m so glad things are going well with you and Gendry.”

That surprises her. Quite a bit, actually. “Sorry?”

“Don’t know what you’ve done to him, to be honest,” Hot Pie shakes his head dramatically, his thick accent pouring through his words.

“What do you mean?” She asks, because she genuinely isn’t sure what she’s supposed to have done to Gendry.

“I met him our first day here, you know, and you’re the only girl I’ve ever seen him with. Ever.”

That surprises her even more. She knows Gendry isn’t the sociable type, and she knows he hasn’t been with anyone since they started their thing three months ago, but ever? Over three years?

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” she raises her shoulders, but she isn’t sure what else to say.

“Takes a special girl to get our Gendry to stop sulking around the place,” Hot Pie says so whole-heartedly that she can’t help but smile. He doesn’t seem to know the actual nature of her relationship with Gendry. “He’ll never admit it because he’s a right moody bastard, but he’s pretty besotted with you if ask me.”

She’s kind of stunned into silence at that point, just offering Hot Pie another smile before side-stepping past him and heading back to Gendry’s room.

She doesn’t bring it up.

_____

“Ooh, this one’s nice,” Shireen says, holding up a gold skirt.

“Sexy, but not too sexy,” Myrcella adds from the corner of the room.

Arya hears Meera scoff behind her and she’s grateful she doesn’t have to do it herself. “She’s been shagging him for the past three months, what does it matter how sexy her skirt is _now_?”

“It’s their first date, Meera! Of _course_ it matters!” Myrcella says, pulling another shirt out of Arya’s wardrobe and holding it against herself.

“It’s _not_ a date,” she reminds them, but her argument seems to fall hard on deaf ears. After her conversation with Hot Pie, she wasn’t so sure herself.

_____

He picks her up in his car, and she has to remind herself to play it cool. It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve had sex, for tonight, they’re just two friends going to see a movie.

When they get there, they’re early enough that they have time to go to get popcorn and milkshakes. She tries to pay for both of their snacks, seeing as he paid for both their tickets, but he doesn’t let her pay for his too. If she thought it was a pig-headed male pride thing, she would probably have argued more, but she knows he has a chip on his shoulder about money in general - she’s never asked why, so she doesn’t push.

“So you’ve seen this movie before, right?” She asks him once they’re back in the car.

To her surprise, he shakes his head in response. “Nope, never seen it.”

She gasps dramatically, raising her hand to clutch at her chest in pure (exaggerated) shock and horror. “You’ve _never_ seen The First Sword of Braavos? How have you even lived?”

“I mean, this is a showing for the 50th anniversary so I think it’s fair to not have seen every movie that came out twenty seven years before I was born.”

“Don’t get snarky with me about The First Sword,” she swats his arm. “There’s only so much I can tolerate, you know.”

“Apologies, Princess,” he snickers, fiddling with the radio to set the right frequency for the sound.

She glances out her window, and the drive-in is getting fuller by the second. It’s only then she realises how romantic all of this would seem in different circumstances. Gendry even said that Anguy was planning on bringing a girl he’d been dating here when he originally bought the tickets.

However, The First Sword isn’t really classed as a romantic movie, even though there are technically hints of a romantic relationship in the film.

But Gendry’s never even seen the movie. He has no reason to want to be there, or even think about buying the tickets from Anguy - other than her.

“Oh look, it’s starting,” he says, reclining back in his seat. He must notice the look on her face, because his own expression becomes one of concern. “Arya? Hey, are you okay?”

She nods quickly. “Fine. Now, shut up, you don’t get to talk during The First Sword of Braavos; it’s disrespectful.”

Then she turns her head towards the big screen, but she can still see him smiling at her from the corner of her eye. It makes her smile, too.

She doesn’t know when his hand ends up on top of hers, or how their fingers intertwine. She just knows it feels right.

She doesn’t know why he turns her head towards him and kisses her without saying a word, or how much of the stupid movie they miss, too lost in each other. She just knows it feels right.

_____

“Will you _please_ stop laughing?” He asks, ironically whilst laughing himself.

“You kissed me.”

His eyebrows crease together as he presses his lips together in a mock pout. “I kiss you all the time.”

“Not like _that_ , you don’t,” she shrugs.

“Alright, well, still. Don’t laugh because I kissed you,” He says, just making her laugh even more. “Fuck sake, my ego’s at stake here”

“Oh, not the precious ego,” she gasps. “Gods forbid.”

“Fuck off,” he mutters, laughing to himself under his breath as if she can’t tell. “Thought we weren’t allowed to talk during The First Sword.”

“We can talk during the _credits_ ,” she rolls her eyes and points on that the names scrolling down the screen. “Not like I saw much of the movie anyway, is it?”

He turns and smirks at her. “Oh, you didn’t? Did something distract you, Princess?”

“Yeah, just a little,” she grins. “I don’t mind being distracted though...”

Just as he leans in to kiss her again, they both jump a mile when there’s a knock on the window behind her.

She whips her head around in shock and it takes her a second to recognise the man peering at them through the window with an odd, disgusting grin on his face. Only when he has the audacity to wave at her does her stomach start churning.

“D’you know him?” Gendry asks, confusion laced in his voice at the strange man currently at his car.

She sighs, turning to face Gendry. “Unfortunately. Just roll down the window a second and I’ll get rid of him or he’ll never take the hint.”

Gendry does open the window, albeit very unwillingly. He doesn’t say that it’s a problem, but the look on his face is enough to know he’s not happy about the odd interruption.

“Hi Elmar,” she says falsely, plastering on her best fake smile.

Elmar Frey. Of all bloody people.

“Arya Stark, as I live and breath, I knew it was you at the popcorn stand,” He says, leaning on the car’s now fully open window. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a movie,” she says, and she hears Gendry snort behind her. She knows Elmar heard it too from the way his eyes flicker over her shoulder and stay there for a few seconds.

“Who’s your friend?” Elmar asks, still eyeing Gendry.

She sucks in a breath. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“This is your car, I take it?” Elmar says, tilting his head to look at the exterior of the car.

Gendry clears his throat. “I’m driving it, aren’t I?”

Elmar laughs. “Right. It’s nice. Very.. retro.”

They all know it’s an insult; a cheap shot for calling Gendry’s car old and, well, cheap.

“Listen, I don’t know who you are but we were kind of in the middle of something,” Gendry says, tapping his fingers against his steering wheel.

Elmar completely ignores him. “Has your lovely Mother invited you to our Summer Ball, Arya? It’s a highly exclusive event, as you know.”

The Freys’ Summer Ball is the worst thing she’s ever experienced in her life. Catelyn and Ned dragged her there once when she was about sixteen, solely because Sansa wasn’t able to attend. The Freys’ are awful and everything about their so-called home is cold, callous and distrusting. Fake loyalty doesn’t even cover it.

“I’m sure she probably mentioned it, can’t say I’m interested.”

“Now, see, she promised me I’d have you on my arm this year.”

Gendry snickers, very loudly. “What is she? A fucking trophy?”

She reaches over and grabs hold of his hand. She knows how hard it is to resist telling Elmar where to shove it and she also knows that Gendry isn’t exactly patient with people like him.

“I’m not a trophy,” she says to Gendry, before turning to Elmar and repeating herself. “Not a trophy. I won’t be coming. So thanks, but no thanks.”

“Funny isn’t it? How desperate your mother is for us to be an item,” Elmar smiles at her, and she doesn’t know if he’s that lacking in self-awareness or if he’s just choosing to ignore them to be a prick. “You can’t blame her really. My family owns most of the Riverlands whilst yours are by far the most affluent Northern fami-. ”

“Oh, just fuck off,” Gendry spits before Elmar’s even reached the end of his sentence.

Elmar looks as petulantly shocked at the language as she’d expect. 

Gendry just looks like he wants to punch something. Elmar, she thinks, is the most likely target.

She suddenly feels a trophy; she’s literally stuck in the middle of them as they’re glaring at each other as if she isn’t sitting there with a mind and mouth of her own that she’s capable of using.

“Gendry, can we just go, please?” She says through her teeth, and it takes all of two seconds for him to start the car. He revs the engine - on purpose, she knows - causing Elmar to step back before he speeds off.

They’re a few minutes down the road before either of them say a word. His face is still like thunder and she’s sure hers isn’t that much different.

“What the hell was that?” She finally asks, when the silence drives her to the end of her tether.

He laughs, though completely humorlessly. “You tell me, Lady Stark.”

“Don’t be such a dick,” she raises her voice considerably. “Just talk to me. Preferably to me, not over me this time.”

“I was trying to _defend_ you, Arya.”

She’s seething by this point, running her hands through her hair. “I don’t need defending.”

“Your little friend’s not wrong, is he?” Gendry laughs, and she may be furious with him, but she can hear the hurt in his voice. “Girl like you, why wouldn’t you want a guy like _him_?”

His words sting. She doesn’t even know what he means, but really, she _knows_ what he means and she hates it. She hates that he’s sitting there acting like she’s doing something wrong. “Fuck you.”

They don’t say another word. He drives to her place and she gets out of his car, slamming his door without so much as a second glance.

_____

After their disaster of a not-a-date night, they don’t talk for over a week. She feels so unnerved and disorientated that she feels like she’s lost a part of her life.

It’s ridiculous, she thinks, how she never even had him and yet still she feels like she’s lost him.

There’s not a single message from him when she wakes up that morning, again, and every day she feels stupider and more desperate for even hoping there would be.

They’re as stubborn as each other, she knows that, and she doesn’t know how they’ll get past this.

He’s graduating in a few days and she doesn’t even know what grade he achieved or if he got the scholarship for his post-grad course.

She wants to know. She finds herself itching to send him a message, she picks up the phone and nearly caves on more than one occasion, but then she remembers their fight and she just can’t give in.

But their night had been perfect. The kiss had been perfect.

Until Elmar Frey came along and Gendry reminded her who he was that first night they met.

She locked herself in her bedroom that night as soon as she got home after their date to avoid any well-intentioned questioning from the girls. Ever since, neither one of them have brought up the date or Gendry in general so she knows they got the hint no matter how childish it may have been.

There’s a knock on her door. “Arya?”

Hearing Meera’s voice pour through, she drags herself out of bed and opens the door.

“The stupid guy you hook up with sometimes is at the front door,” Meera says, almost hesitantly. “Should I let him in?”

She has to think about it for a second. She wants to see him, she wants to talk, but she has no idea what she’d even say to him. Still, she nods. “Yeah, please.”

“Okay, I’ll send him straight up,” Meera says and she turns to walk away.

“Wait, you’ve let him in loads of times,” Arya says, thinking out loud, causing Meera to turn back to face her. “Why didn’t you this time?”

Meera rolls her eyes. “Arya, you come home from a date - and it was a date - and immediately lock yourself in your bedroom without a word. It’s been a week and you clearly don’t want to even talk about him. So, yeah, I figured it was best to check with you first and make sure Myrcella is still wrong about her serial killer theory.”

They both laugh. “Thank you.”

Meera smiles at her before she heads for the stairs.

It’s only as she hears footsteps coming back up, heavier and quicker than either of the girls, that she realises she’s wearing his t-shirt.

She goes to grab something she can quickly shove over it so he won’t see, but he’s already at her door as she opens her wardrobe.

“Hey..” he says, awkwardly stepping into her room as she closes the wardrobe. “Your roommate said it was okay to come straight up.”

“Well, you’ve done it plenty of times before,” she shrugs, folding her arms across her chest. “Not exactly groundbreaking, is it?”

He looks down at his feet, and she can’t remember the last time they felt so disconnected and dishonest. Probably the first time they met, she thinks, and even that didn’t last long. He had her riled up from the very first second and she doesn’t know how to feel now they’re both clearly holding back.

"Nice shirt," he says, in what she knows is an attempt to lighten the mood. She doesn't answer and so he continues, “I’m really sorry. About the way I acted.”

“It’s fine. But thank you for apologising.”

Her response makes him look back up at her, finally, and she feels like she can’t read him.

She wants to fight. She wants to argue with him, call him every name she can think of. She wishes she could still see him as the guy she met that first night so she could call him an arrogant, selfish prick and just move on with her life.

“I, uh…” he swallows. “I missed you.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure a week with your hand was a very lonely experience for you.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” he says, grinding his teeth together. “I missed you, I missed talking to you, being with you.”

She bites her lip. “Yeah, me too.”

She hears his deep breath as much as she sees it from the way his chest rises and falls. She knows he’s nervous but she also knows he hates talking and she’s hardly making it easy for him, so it’s understandable.

“I got the scholarship.”

She softens as soon as the words leave his mouth, a sense of pride and happiness she never expected washing over her. When she looks at him, all she can see is someone who wants her reaction, her approval.

“Gendry, that’s amazing,” she says, not holding herself back from closing the gap between them and wrapping her arms around him. She feels his hands on her back almost as soon as she does so. “I knew you could do it.”

He laughs awkwardly. “Kind of a miracle really considering some of the distractions I had.”

She pulls back to look him in the eye and she can’t help but laugh, prompting him to laugh with her. “Some would call it _motivation_ in that case.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty motivating,” he says, his eyes falling to her lips for just a second before returning to meet her eyes. “When I found out I got a First, and then I had the confirmation about the funding, all I wanted to do was tell you about it.”

“I was going to text you but…” she whispers, letting her sentence trail off, knowing he’d know where she was going with it.

“But I acted like a total dick, yeah, I know,” he says. “But that little prick just wound me up and - and I was jealous.”

“There’s nothing between Elmar and I. Nothing at all, never will be,” she replies. “But if there was? You had no right to be jealous. We’re not together.”

“I know that and I’m sorry,” he says, before letting out an empty laugh. “But maybe I want us to be together, d’you ever consider that?”

 _Oh_. Well. There it is.

Her eyes widen slightly as his words sink in. “You don’t think I want that too, asshole?”

She doesn’t know who makes the first move. Maybe they both do, at the exact same second, but she genuinely has no idea. It doesn’t matter anyway, because all that matters is that he’s kissing her and she’s touching him and suddenly everything starts to make sense again.

_____

“So, now you’re a Postgraduate student, will you be investing in a proper laundry service?” She smirks, hopping up onto one of the many, many broken machines.

“Nah, I like this one,” he says, smirking at her over his shoulder as he puts his coins in the machine. “Shit hole but there’s this one super hot girl that comes in here..”

She laughs as he moves to stand in between her legs, his hands going to her thighs. “Is that right?”

He plants a quick kiss against her jaw, before nodding. “Oh yeah. Loses her shit completely when she thinks it’s your fault she’s used the broken machine. Like I said, super hot.”

She smooths her hands over his chest before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Well she sounds fantastic.”

He kisses her again, on the lips this time, slow and gentle. “Yeah she is. She’s pretty perfect actually.”

She smirks against his lips, feeling his hands moving around to her back. “You should totally ask her out some time.”

“Oh, I think she has a boyfriend,” he pulls back with a sigh and she has to bite her tongue to stop from laughing. “I hear he’s pretty awesome.”

She shrugs. “Eh, he’s okay.”

“ _Just_ okay?”

“Just okay.”

“I’ll show you just okay,” he whispers, immediately leaning forward to claim her lips again as their hands move into dangerous territory. There’s a reason they like the launderette at midnight after all.

Nearly a year after that first night and he still sets her skin on fire when he touches her. Now, he sets her heart and soul on fire too.

**Author's Note:**

> this is as close to enemies to lovers as i'll ever go with gendrya lmao. i don't care if you've just met! you're best friends! behave. 
> 
> anyways, hope you enjoyed whatever this was. my tumblr is baratheonstarks - come have a chat if ya fancy. x


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